Like Calls To Like
by kittodaijoubu
Summary: “Why, Kikumaru-kun, such a surprise to see you here, ne.” Mukahi drags the ki syllable sound slightly, and the way he drawls Eiji’s name makes it sound like an insult." It is all Fuji's fault that Kikumaru and Mukahi meet on a Saturday morning.
1. Chapter 1

This story is the product of the PoT crack generator, which gave me Kikumaru Eiji/ Mukahi Gakuto Fuji Syuusuke. Somehow am incapable of writing crack, so this will be a multichaptered, vaguely angsty story instead.

* * *

It is Fuji's fault that Kikumaru Eiji is sitting in a café on a lovely Saturday morning, aimlessly stirring his strawberry milkshake and feeling bored out of his mind. The sunlight slants in through a lattice over the window that is all curlicues and delicately wrought flowers, makes a funny shadow on the ground that Eiji amuses himself with by imagining how one could contort to make that shape, the one that looks like a figure with back arched and a leg fully extended perpendicular to the ground; or the one that looks like someone trying to chew on his own knee whilst in an arabesque.

He wonders, idly, if he would have been able to make shapes like those if he had stayed long enough in Gymnastics. When he was ten he overheard his parents talking in low, hushed voices: caught the words 'flighty' and 'Eiji' in the same sentence, tinged heavily with worry, disapproval. They never actually said as much to him, but he was infamous by then for the way he switched clubs in school, brief stints that amounted to nothing, mere dabbling without focus.

That was until Gym came along. For a while he'd thought that this was something that would abate the constant restlessness that never stopped, a festering worm in his mind; the urge to keep trying to be a just a little closer to the sky and the sun and the stars was almost overwhelming. And he knew he was good at it - but being simply good was never enough, there was no challenge in escaping mediocrity. He lay awake at night, imagined the endless darkness above, wondered about the end to the stars he could jump to, zigzagging trails of stardust across the universe.

The weight of expectation (his own: he wasn't going to stay because he wouldn't be brilliant enough) kept him grounded, in the end.

Now he's in tennis because at least there if he isn't the best he's at least one of the top nine in the club, for sure, and therefore necessary to a certain degree.

Plus his acrobatic tennis was pretty much unique to him, at least until stupid Mukahi Gakuto of Hyotei decided to appear, with as much genius in gymnastics as Fuji had in tennis.

Eiji wishes he had just stayed being brilliant in gym, wishes it so hard that he's unwittingly clenching his fists, leaving indented red crescents in his palms.

* * *

The next thing he knows his handphone's vibrating with a message from Fuji and (more importantly) the object of his ire has waltzed into the café, a swish of mulberry-hued hair and pixie-sharp features.

The two are an impossible coincidence, given the timing.

"Why, Kikumaru-kun, such a surprise to see you here, ne." Mukahi drags the ki syllable sound slightly, and the way he drawls Eiji's name makes it sound like an insult.

Eiji forces himself to smile, because Tezuka will be unhappy if stories get back to him about unsporting behaviour, and he doesn't want to be running laps for the rest of his junior high life.

Mukahi taps a pale finger against his lower lip pseudo-pensively. "Such a curious thing, you know, Yuushi said he would meet me here but he just texted to tell me that he can't make it after all, he has a practice friendly with Fuji Syuusuke."

It occurs suddenly to Eiji that perhaps Fuji's logic stems from experience; Oshitari Yuushi is acknowledged to be a tensai almost of Fuji's caliber, the only other boy who can perform Higuma Otoshi as perfectly as Fuji himself (of course they hardly have similar hair colours, but that is really of peripheral importance)

Now the only unanswered question is which of the two cooked up this demented scheme.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed; it is v v much appreciated, I promise to reply to individual people next chapter, but thank you lots & lots anyway! o(-)o

It's all Eiji can do to not shout at Fuji, as much affection as he bears his manipulative genius of a best friend. Fuji's voice over the phone is contrite, calm, but certainly not apologetic in the least: if anything there are undertones of smug satisfaction.

Fuji's explanation seems to make perfect sense to him: Eiji is moping about the Golden Pair's recent loss to Shishido and Ootori in the Nationals, and_surely Mukahi-kun will be feeling rather upset, too, at losing to Doubles 2 Seigaku pair on the brink of victory, and since you share common interests and similar hair colours perhaps that might be the basis on which a good relationship could be founded._

It doesn't make any sense to Eiji. Nobody forms relationships through mutual commiseration, much less long-standing enemies (competitors, he amends hastily). _It's the Inui juice and the wasabi_, he thinks, _it's addled his brains._

He opens his mouth to say as much, but catches only Fuji saying _enjoy yourself, jya!_ before he hangs up. That Fuji is smiling in a distinctly feline manner at that very moment, eyes limpid and glimmering with mischief is something he doesn't doubt.

* * *

Gakuto doesn't want to admit it but this situation amuses him inordinately; in no small part thanks to Kikumaru's poorly suppressed irritation. His momentary annoyance at Yuushi's deception has dissipated despite its original intensity, because Kikumaru is clearly about to go out of his mind feigning politeness and there is really nothing better than driving one's arch-rival mental, especially if said rival has defeated you once before.

Deliberately ignoring Kikumaru's unsubtle look of unadulterated horror, he takes the seat opposite him and gracefully crosses his legs. Kikumaru wears his every emotion on his face, displays it in his voice; it is evident in the way he is worrying at his lower lip, fingers picking at the napkin in his lap, that he isn't even aware that he's doing so.

Gakuto thinks disdainfully to himself that he wouldn't survive a week in Hyotei, he'd be torn to shreds by the ambitiously vicious people that made up the tennis club, who would pounce on this line of weakness and stress it until he was completely shattered. Some people find this emotional immaturity and openness endearing, perhaps even _adorable_; it makes Gakuto want to throw up in disgust. You shouldn't show what others might exploit.

* * *

Eiji tries hard not to gape in horror as Mukahi sits himself down opposite him with careless grace, waves a languid hand at the waiter and orders himself a strawberry milkshake ("_non-fat milk only, please"_). His instinctive reaction is to accuse Mukahi of taking all the fun out of drinking milkshakes, because to make one with low-fat milk is already a terrible bastardisation and to use non-fat a positive crime against humanity, but to do such a thing would imply familiarity they do not enjoy. _And never will_.

Mukahi twists a few strands of his hair around his index finger. "_So,_ Kikumaru-kun. When did you start gym?"

Eiji isn't sure if this question is meant to be condescending or not; if, when he gives his answer, Mukahi will smirk and go _oh no wonder you can't quite hit the height_ or _such a pity, that, you might actually have been worth competing with if you'd started earlier_. In the end he decides to give Mukahi the benefit of the doubt.

"When I was ten, I think," he mumbles, looking anywhere but at Mukahi. _Please let Oishi call now about practice, please please please please - _

"Well, that's quite... Surprising." There is, curiously enough, no trace of irony in Mukahi's voice. Eiji looks up through his bangs and sees Mukahi chewing his lip thoughtfully. Somewhere in the back of his mind there is the belated realisation that were Mukahi a girl the action would be singularly endearing, and he quashes the thought in confused horror at his bad judgement.

"You're not half bad for such a late start." If Eiji listens hard enough, there is almost grudging admiration somewhere in that.

"Nowhere near me, of course." He should have seen that coming, too, along with the arrogant tip-tilt of the chin up and smug curve of Mukahi's smile. Sincerity is evidently a concept beyond his comprehension, something infrequently practiced.

Eiji's instinctive reaction, childishly enough, is to retaliate; to hit Mukahi where it will hurt the most. Blow for blow, tit for tat.

"Well, _some people_ still got their asses kicked anyway, against a makeshift doubles pair and again in Nationals!" he flares.

* * *

There is a moment of silence that stretches, spreading out from the centre like a blackly indelible ink stain on a white tablecloth. It is as if the rest of the cafe has been put on pause.

Gakuto abruptly stands and the sound his chair makes is the screech of metal dragged across the floor, piercing and awful, like the high keening of a dying animal. His eyes are closed, lashes fanned out darkly against his cheeks; he is breathing arrhythmically, short, sharp bursts that are more gasps than real breaths.

He opens his eyes, purple with a hard edge of rage (cut amethysts blazing violet); and all hell breaks loose.

"Shut up, okay? Shut the _hell _up about what you don't know anything about, you don't know anything about how hard we worked, how hard I worked to get to the regulars! _Two hundred people _to get through, more than you probably have in all your sports clubs put together, I worked _so fucking hard_ to scramble to the top and after we lost to you I ran until my legs collapsed under me for days after, as training and punishment and penance to show that I was sorry for not winning, I was sorry for _losing_ and I still couldn't work up enough stamina, do you think this is _fun_ for me?" He spits all this out venomously at Kikumaru, it spills from him and he couldn't stop if he tried now.

"Don't you actually wonder why Yuushi stayed my doubles partner even though he could _obviously _do fine on his own, he could probably thrash every other player in this region into the _ground_ but he stayed because there is _no way otherwise_ I could make a match on my own? It wasn't fair to him being tethered to me like that, for him to wait for me to get my fucking act together, I wasn't going to keep him grounded like that, always behind me and waiting to pick up for me, I'm not some stupid selfish kid!" He takes a shaky breath. "Not any more."

* * *

Eiji cannot meet Mukahi's eyes; he feels shame creeping up as a wash of red on his cheeks. This role of waiting is what he forces Oishi into, always; always without thinking. He resented Oishi during Nationals for wanting to strike out on his own, to go his own way, for not needing Eiji the way Eiji needed him.

Mukahi turns on his heel and prepares to stalk out of the cafe; before Eiji knows what he's doing he has grabbed Mukahi's wrist. He does have the fastest reflexes in Seigaku; that entails, usually, moving without thought. Mukahi stills.

(Somewhere distantly from behind them a man makes a snide comment about keeping their lovers' quarrels private; Eiji supposes somewhat numbly that their hair is quite reminiscent of girls'. Though which of them has girlier hair is presumably an argument for another time.)

He tries to think of something, anything to say that might possibly rectify the situation because Mukahi is gazing at him with a spark of defiance, daring him to say anything that might possibly defuse everything - but for once his verbosity fails him.

Mukahi rolls his eyes and yanks his arm away from Eiji's desperate fingers, jerking his head derisively in his direction before storming out.

If Eiji hadn't noticed the glint of what he thought was a tear on the rondure of Mukahi's cheek as he turned, he might actually have been offended.


End file.
